Thicker Than Blood
by annieoakley1
Summary: 'Not flesh of my flesh, Nor bone of my bone, But still miraculously my own. Never forget for a single minute, You didn't grow under my heart, But in it.' - Adoption Creed. Years after surviving her last reaping, Katniss gets everything she always said she never wanted. Everlark. Panem AU.
1. Prologue

**The Interview**

The appointment is at 2 p.m., and I wake before dawn. Since Peeta is sleeping in his own room again, the nightmares are back, and I never feel well-rested, no matter how early I turn in. Last night, a part of me was tempted to ask him to stay just one more time. But I couldn't take anything else from him. He's already given too much.

Like always, he's up before I am and already hard at work. It somehow doesn't feel right to go out into the woods this morning, so I dress and make my way down to the bakery. When Peeta hears me in the kitchen with him, he startles. "Did I wake you?"

"No," I answer honestly, slipping an apron over my head.

We work together in silence. I still haven't spent much time learning how to bake, but after all the hours I've spent watching Peeta, I'm a capable assistant. I stay with him until late morning, seeing him through the early rush of customers and waiting until it slows before I head back upstairs. I'm too nervous to eat, so I make some tea and sit at the table Prim and Bryce gave us after we signed the papers. It really is a very nice piece of furniture, and definitely the fanciest of anything we've bought together. For the first time, I take notice of all the intricate details, like the tiny leaves carved along the sides, linked together by delicate rosettes that I trace with the tip of my finger.

The tick tock of the clock hanging above my head is the only sound I can hear. It's louder than any of the sounds from the bakery below, noisier than Peeta could ever dream of being. _Tick tock. Tick tock._

By noon, I can't stand it anymore, so I wash up and put on my mother's green dress. As I'm pinning my braid up, I hear Peeta walking the steps, loud as ever. He pokes his head in the doorway and manages a smile, but he's quiet as he leans against the frame. There's a part of me that wonders if he's trying to think of a way to back out now before it's too late. Maybe he's finally realized what he's offered, and just what it all means. Maybe he's remembered that I'm not the girl he wanted to do all of these things with in the first place.

"I just talked to Delly," he finally says, our eyes meeting again in the mirror.

I wait for him to continue, but he looks away. "And?" I ask.

"And she spoke to the official when she arrived today. They're concerned that we've only been married for a month."

"Oh." It's not surprising, really. Adoptions in our district are rare, but when they happen, it's usually after a couple have been together for years yet unable to have a child of their own.

My mind's racing with a million different thoughts, and Peeta straightens, stepping fully into the room. "Katniss," he says. "I can handle this. I'll do the talking."

I nod and try to finish pinning my hair. "The woman isn't going to drag this out," Peeta adds, watching me. "Delly says she'll be leaving for the Capitol this evening, so the decision will be made quickly."

"Well, at least we'll know," I say, turning to leave. As Peeta showers and dresses, I sit in my room and stare at the wall until it's time to go.

Outside, it's humid, the sun hot and bright. Peeta reaches for my hand, and our fingers tangle together as we walk toward the Justice Building for the second time this month. When we arrive, a District 12 worker points us in the direction of the official's office. The door is already open, and Peeta and I share a meaningful look before we enter together.

The office is as dingy and depressing as the rest of the district, and the Capitol official stands out, with her magenta colored skin and obvious wig. She rises as she greets us, and I'm sure she says her name but I've already missed it. I look past her green bouffant hairdo to study the series of posters on the wall behind her. It's more Capitol propaganda, this work featuring the community home, with close-up shots of the desolate children captioned with the tagline, 'Sponsor Tomorrow's Tributes Today!' I've seen similar commercials running during the Games, urging the people of the Capitol to send help to the parentless children of the poorest districts. If they do donate, I don't know where any of the money goes. It's definitely not being used to help the children.

On the second poster, there's one photo featuring a tiny girl that reminds me of L, with the same dark, matted hair and sad eyes. I don't recall ever seeing her at any of the visits, and I can't help but wonder about her fate…

"Mrs. Mellark?"

I feel Peeta at my side, gently cupping my waist and squeezing to gain my attention, but I'm so taken back by the contact that I lose myself again. It's the most intimate touch since we filled out the forms at the Justice Building.

"You'll have to forgive my wife," Peeta says with a laugh. "I don't think she's quite used to that name yet. As far as Katniss is concerned, Mrs. Mellark is my mother."

I manage to plaster on a smile. "It will take some time."

"About that," she says, taking the seat at her desk. "I was reading over your application earlier, and I have to say, I'm surprised you're applying so soon. Why, you've only been married a _month_." She bats her ridiculously long eyelashes, looking at us expectantly.

"A month is the minimum, right?" Peeta asks innocently, dazzling her with a grin.

"Well, yes, that's true. But surely you want to enjoy your time together now, first. Perhaps even try for your own children?" Her arched brows rise with the lilt in her voice, and my teeth grit at the shrill sound of her affected Capitol accent.

"Ms. Welldine, can you keep a secret?" Peeta asks, leaning forward conspiringly. The woman looks at us curiously, and I can only hope that I don't seem as confused as she does.

"I'm not sure I under-"

Peeta smiles, cutting her off. "Katniss and I have been married for nearly two years now."

I have to look down at the folds of my skirt to hide my face. Where on earth is he going with this obvious lie? "But…how?" she asks, and I can hear her rummaging through her papers, looking for the date to confirm.

"Oh, it wasn't an official marriage," he says. "We didn't go to the Justice Building until last month. But are you familiar with the marriage ritual in District 12?"

I look up to see the woman shaking her head.

"There's this thing we do," Peeta says, and he goes on to describe a toasting. _Our_ toasting- the one that never happened, the one he insisted we didn't need. He looks over at me reverently as he tells her about this fictional day that we shared together, and there's so much love in his eyes, and so many lies in his words. He can still surprise me.

"To us, we were more married than any piece of paper could make us. And we've certainly enjoyed our time together," Peeta continues, turning back to her now. "We'd have everything we wanted, if only we could have a baby."

"You can't have your own?" she asks, her voice softening.

Peeta shakes his head sadly, and again I look down. "Katniss's mother and sister are both healers, and they don't think it's likely if it hasn't happened already. So we've decided to open our home to a child in need of one. The license was really just a formality we had to take care of before applying to adopt."

"Well," she says, seemingly appeased. "I see that you own the bakery in town." Then she looks at me. "And you help him run it, I assume?" I nod along, because I can't very well say that I go into the woods every day to hunt. Suddenly I feel the need to talk myself up. "I take care of most things around the house, too. And my younger sister runs an apothecary shop in town, and sometimes I help her with that."

"She also visits the community home a lot," Peeta adds. "Lately, she's been there nearly every day."

"For all the children," I say. "But especially L."

Her brow furrows. "L?"

"That's what everyone calls her, from her case number. We don't know her real name."

"And she's the one you want to adopt?" she asks, again leafing through the sheets of paper on her desk.

"We'd adopt them all if we could," Peeta says, and it's one of the few honest things he's said to her.

She smiles at us, the paperwork forgotten. "You know, I don't really see a point in delaying this any further," she says with an air of finality. "I'll be heading back to the Capitol in a few hours, but I'll stop by the home after I attend to some business about the reaping." She stands from her desk, and we both rise from our seats, neither of us sure what's going on. "I'll inform the director that you can take her home this evening, if you wish. But first I have to get a few more papers for you to sign."

She leaves the room, and we stare at each other, stunned. Can it really be this easy? Everything seems to be happening so fast, and even though I feel overwhelmed by it all, I grin. We were approved. We can get her out of the home. At least one child will be helped.

Peeta wraps his arms around me, pulling me to him, and I relax in his embrace. "We're going to be a family," he whispers against my hair.

"Yeah," I say, my throat tightening.

_We're going to be a family._

* * *

__A/N: This fic will be 10 chapters and an epilogue. Chapter one will be posted next week, and it goes back to begin the explanation of how Katniss and Peeta got here. 

Many, many thanks to Court81981 for the beta, and to misshoneywell and didntheramble for prereading! ILY, guys! 

Come find me on tumblr as cinnamonanddildo. I post previews and other stories there, and I'll be happy to answer any questions. Thanks for reading! 


	2. Chapter 1

_22 Months Earlier_

The cake is larger than we agreed on, and lovelier than I ever imagined. Tiny primrose flowers of all colors are scattered along the surface, set atop a shimmering bed of white frosting that is as untouched as a first snowfall. More flowers line the base. I try to find evidence of the knife's edge on the icing, but there is none. It's more beautiful than any display cake that Prim ever insisted we stop to admire. Not even the one I managed to secure for Gale's toasting can compare, and I was in awe of that at the time.

It's absolutely perfect.

And it's too much.

Peeta knows this, which is exactly why he took off into the kitchen as soon as he set it on the counter for me. I call him back, but he either pretends not to hear me, or he really is as busy with orders as he claims. Since the Harvest Festival is approaching, as well as a popular toasting season, I decide to believe him. Besides, there's a few hours left before I'm due at the Justice Building, and that's plenty of time to go out to the woods for more squirrels to make this a fair trade.

"I'll be back by four," I yell out, turning to leave. He acknowledges me with a wave of his hand, and I slip out the front entrance, the overhead bell jingling loudly as the door closes behind me.

The town is fairly busy, so I keep my head down until the gravel from the road replaces the paving stones of the square beneath my hunting boots. As soon as I'm back in the Seam, I relax. Prim should be getting ready for her day, so I'm surprised when I arrive home to find her and our mother sitting at the kitchen table with a woman I vaguely recognize from around here. She's obviously been crying, her eyes still red and swollen. I try to keep myself busy in the small space so I don't interfere, but she rises a few minutes later, dabbing at her tears with an old handkerchief as she walks to the door.

"Stop by again if you need anything," Prim tells her kindly as she sees her out. She nods once, and then reaches to wrap my sister in a hug, surprising us all.

"What was that about?" I can't help but ask after she leaves.

Our mother gets to work putting away some of the items from her kit. "She's expecting. Baby number five."

For Prim's sake, I resist the urge to roll my eyes. She doesn't like it when I say anything about this, and we both already know how each other feels. I think it's foolish and selfish to bring any more children into this world, where they'll be served up on a platter to satisfy the Capitol's taste for innocent bloodshed. But Prim believes every child is precious, and she's so crazy over babies that she now delivers more than our mother does. I can't imagine she'll be able to stay away from that once she moves into town, and maybe that's one of the reasons I'm not as upset about this upheaval as everyone assumes. I just can't picture her actually leaving.

"I just stopped by to drop off your herbs," I tell them, emptying my hunting bag of all the plants I foraged for earlier this morning. "I have to go back out for a few more things."

"Katniss, our signing appointment is at 3:00!" Prim reminds me, as if I could forget.

"I'll be back in plenty of time."

"Well, what's so important that you have to go now?"

Maybe she wouldn't be so whiny if she knew, but I'm determined to keep this a surprise. Besides, I'm not needed at home while she gets ready. Mother will braid her hair and help her with the dress, and I would only be in the way. It's actually a good thing that I need to go back out for more squirrels, since it will give me something to do. "I promise I'll be there," I say to appease her. "I wouldn't miss it for anything."

Prim comes over, brushing my braid off my shoulder as she smiles down at me, and once again I'm left wondering just when exactly it was that she grew up. "You better not. Don't forget that you're my guest of honor."

I sigh. "Prim, that's such a silly tradition."

"But it's tradition," she insists, and I know there's no getting out of it. "We're leaving half past the hour."

"I'll be back in plenty of time," I repeat. I put my father's old hunting jacket on again and grab my now empty bag, and I take off before either she or my mother have another chance to say anything to me. My main priority right now is getting more squirrels for Peeta, not any of the toasting preparations I have no business helping with.

Since the cake is both bigger and better than what we agreed on, I consider myself in debt, an idea I loathe. Over the past week, I've brought Peeta nearly half a dozen squirrels and three rabbits, and I considered that sufficient payment for some cake for Prim's wedding. But now that I've seen the cake he made for her, I know it was nowhere near enough. I want to get at least three more squirrels today, since I figure that's what he likes best anyhow. Then maybe we'll finally be square.

Not that Peeta would expect or even want more from me. It's times like this that I really miss his father, who was always fair and never pitying. To his credit, he _is _getting better about things like this, and it's no longer a hassle to get him to accept what's appropriate for his trades. Usually I have to haggle to get my due, not coerce someone into taking more. Sometimes I wonder if Peeta will even be able to keep his family's business afloat with how soft he is.

The fence is still off, of course, and after I slip under the weakest area at this part, I make my way into the trees to retrieve my arrows and bow. It's only a few minutes later when I spot the first squirrel on a branch just above my head. But after I pull an arrow from my sheath, I pause. Will he really want _more_ squirrel? He's too polite to tell me otherwise, but for all I know, he's tired of it. It was his father who always seemed to have a taste for them. Peeta might not even like it. Maybe he never did.

There are apples falling like raindrops, though, and surely he could use those. Tarts and pies and such, I assume, and if he doesn't have to pay the huge surplus to get them from the Capitol, he'll make a much larger profit. Apples are as good as coins, as far as I'm concerned.

There are plenty of apples on the ground already, most in very good condition. As tempting as it is to climb the trees to pick the best, or to stick around to wait for the deer or other animals that will be seeking them out, too, I know that I shouldn't waste any time or Prim will worry. So I get to work, collecting the largest and least bruised ones available from the forest floor.

Back home, I'm sure Prim's already worrying over her long hair, and I bet our mother is swatting away her hands as she tries to pin it up for her. Prim is and always has been as sweet as honey, the most kind and gentle person I've ever known, but even she's not immune to the insanity that comes with toastings. It's just another one of my many reasons to be glad I'll never have to bother with one. Who needs that kind of craziness? Especially when there are much more important things to focus on, like where your next meal is coming from.

I won't begrudge this of Prim, though. If anyone deserves a perfect wedding day, surely it's her. One of the greatest moments of my life happened last year, when Prim survived her final reaping. One of the great moments of her life happened the day after that, when Bryce proposed. Now that everything is finally settled, they're free to marry and open up a new apothecary shop in town. It really is her calling, even if it's hard to imagine my sister as a merchant. But they're not all bad, I remind myself. Bryce's family is nice enough, and so are a few others I trade with regularly. Then there's Peeta, and his exceptional kindness…

And I'll be fine. Prim may live near the square after today, but it's still in walking distance. Sometimes, though, I have to remind myself that this is exactly what I wanted for her; she's safe and happy, and she's going to have a future. Or at least the closest thing to a future any of us can have while living in this district. The truth is, I couldn't have asked for things to have turned out any better for her under our circumstances.

This past summer, the only person I knew who was eligible for the reaping was Vick Hawthorne. Next year, Posy's name will go into the bowl. But Hazelle, Gale and Rory work hard for them, and they don't have to take out tesserae. The worry will always be there, but the situation is as good as it can be. Really, as of right now, things aren't nearly as hard as they've been in the past. There's still struggle of course, but it no longer feels as if everything is a constant fight for our lives.

So why can't I relax for even a moment? Why do I still feel so anxious, all the time?

It's easy to get lost in your thoughts while in the quiet peace of the woods. But I can't afford to waste the time, so I try to stay focused, nearly filling my bag to the brim with apples for Peeta. Still, I'm distracted. Then I hear the branch snapping behind me and already it's too late.

I know it's a bear without even turning around. I've been in this situation before, but this time I'm completely caught off-guard, and without my bow which I stupidly leaned against a tree before picking up apples. I know what I _should_ do, but the fear takes over, and then I'm running forward, the bag falling from my hands as I sprint to the nearest tree and start climbing.

I climb as high as I can, stretching out on a thick branch that I know can hold my weight. I look down to watch the black bear peering up at me curiously. If he wanted, he could easily come up here after me, and I can't help but picture it slowly making its way onto my branch. At least then my death would more likely be from the fall than an attack, but neither of those options is very appealing at the moment.

But the bear is more focused on the apples littering the ground, and it pays no mind to me as it eats greedily. And slowly. Maybe he _is_ waiting to see what I'll do next, as he circles the area several times, occasionally looking up to watch me. Mercifully, he stays on the ground, but time is passing quickly.

I can tell by the position of the sun that it's near two, and I grit my teeth in frustration as I continue to wait him out. Even if he left right now and I felt safe enough to climb down, it would still be a race to the signing. Today is the most important one of Prim's life, and I've already disappointed her. She might not need me to provide all of her meals for her now, or to rock her to sleep with a song when she's sick, or tickle her side until she laughs when she's sad, but she _wants_ me there for her, and now I can't be.

It's suddenly impossible to not cry, and I sob from my spot up in the tree, no longer caring if the bear hears and stays. My tears aren't just over today, or in anger at myself. I know it's about more than being upset at missing the signing or letting down Prim. It's everything. I'm crying because of everything, and because I never allowed myself to do it before.

When the bear has eaten his fill and lost interest in me, he moves deeper into the woods. I know that right at this moment, Prim and Bryce are at the Justice Building with our families, signing the papers that will officially make them man and wife. Soon they'll all be heading to the building in the square they were assigned last week when they applied for their license, and they'll be making their first fire there.

There's no more time for me to feel sorry for myself if I want to see it, so I shimmy down the tree, hide my bow and sheath of arrows, and grab my still full bag. I make it back to the Seam in record time, panting heavily as I wash up as quickly as possible and change into my only dress, the soft blue one that used to belong to my mother. I haven't worn it since my last reaping, over five years ago now.

Once I'm in town, I stop by the bakery to pick up the cake. I always use the front entrance since the baker's witch of a wife remarried, and it's the oldest brother, not Peeta, who emerges from the back a few seconds later. He's quiet like his late father, but nice. I know he helps Peeta out sometimes, even though he works as a carpenter at his girlfriend's family's shop.

There's not time to discuss the additional payment now, so I take the box and thank him, and head for the large brick building a few shops down. There are friends and family spilling out of the doors, so Prim and Bryce must already be inside, which means I also missed seeing them cross the threshold. I can only hope I made it in time for the actual toasting.

The hearth is still clean once I finally make my way inside, and I can't help but smile at the sight of Prim in her rented white gown. I place the bakery box down on a nearby table and move forward, and when her eyes meet mine, she breaks into a wide, relieved smile. "Katniss!" she calls, rushing toward me with her arms out. "Are you okay?"

I'm so grateful that she's back to herself, more worried about me than angry over my earlier absence, though this makes me feel even guiltier about letting her down. "I'm fine," I say, hugging her back tightly. "I'm so sorry I'm late, but I'm okay."

She pulls back to look me over, concern still etched on her face. "Did something happen?"

"We'll talk later, but everything's all right, I promise." I reach out to brush my thumb along her cheek, but the Prim before me now is a grown woman, not a helpless little girl. "You look wonderful."

"The dress is pretty, isn't it?" she asks, looking down to admire it some more.

The truth is, it's a little ill-fitting, both too loose on top and too short at the bottom. And it's not so much white as it is ivory after years of being worn in these ceremonies. There are also a few loose threads I spot immediately.

But it's not the dress that makes her beautiful. It's Prim, with her bright blue eyes, and glowing smile, and her long golden hair, and porcelain skin, and her innate goodness that radiates from it all. She's tall and healthy and here, and that means I've done my job. For all my own faults, at least I can take comfort in knowing that the world is a better place with Prim in it. She's my pride and joy. My greatest accomplishment.

"It's lovely."

My mother and I stand next to her at the fireplace as Bryce and his family move to the other side, and together they make their first fire. I am Seam through and through, and I stand out among all the fair blondes up front, so I look out at the friends who have gathered to be here with them today, taking small comfort at the sight of familiar faces. Seam faces. I spot Hazelle, Vick and Posy and we all share a smile. Gale and Rory are still at work, so they won't be here today. Usually the toastings are held on Sundays, but Prim and Bryce didn't want to put it off a day longer. That's an easier decision to make when the majority of your friends and family aren't miners with only one day a week to spare.

I watch as my sister vows to always be there for husband, and when Bryce's voice breaks as he promises he'll love her for the rest of his life, I have to look down as I brush away my own tears.

But as they slice the bread to toast in the fire, I panic. It's Mellark Bakery bread, bought by his parents. Of course merchants can afford to buy the fresh bread, and even other food for everyone enjoy after the toasting. Other food like cake, a luxury for Seam toastings but probably an expected tradition in town.

Disappointed in both myself and my grand gift, I wait for his parents to present them with a cake that's somehow even larger than the one I traded for. Maybe I can still show Prim the one I brought. After all, it's beautiful and made especially for her. I know she'll at least appreciate the thought behind it.

There isn't any other cake, though. None I can see, anyway, but mine, which is still on the table near the front of the room, hidden in plain sight. I go to retrieve it, and then I place it with the rest of the food, opening the box now so everyone can admire it.

"Oh, Katniss," Bryce's mother says, coming up behind me. "It's gorgeous. How did you manage to get one?"

I'm sure most of the district has an idea of the kind of "work" I do, which consists of going into the woods every day and trading all I can, but I still try to remain discreet about it. As I'm trying to think up a lie for how I paid for it, Bryce's father joins us. "Look at that, we've got cake after all! Missy tried to order one from Mellark's the day they applied for their license, and he said he was already booked solid with Festival orders."

That's funny, because that's the day I asked for the trade, and he had agreed quickly, enthusiastically even. Either he offered to make one after he was already overwhelmed with orders, or he realized my mistake well before I did and helped keep my surprise. No matter, now I owe him even more. Guess I'll be going back into the woods tomorrow for more after all.

It's worth it though for the look on Prim's face when she sees it, and Bryce is thrilled, too. They both hug me again, and then set about cutting it. It's so large that everyone in the room can have their own slice, and as I watch Posy and Vick chewing happily, I decide to indulge myself. It's as delicious as it was beautiful, and I don't think there are enough squirrels in the forest to ever properly repay Peeta for it.

We all stay until nearly dark, talking and laughing as we celebrate the new marriage. At sunset, I stand to say my goodbyes, hugging Prim tightly before I go. Tonight's the first night in her life that she won't be coming home. This is her home now.

She thanks me again, "For _everything,_" she says, with tears in her eyes. As I wrap my arms around her one more time, I whisper how proud I am of her, and how glad I am that she's happy. Bryce kisses my cheek on the way out, and Mother waves, saying she'll see me at home soon.

It's a beautiful autumn night, but the air is crisp and I didn't bring my father's jacket to wear. Still, I decide to go to the bakery, because at the very least, Peeta deserves to know how much everyone loved the cake he made.

He's already closed for the evening, so I round the corner to ring the bell at the back door, near the kitchen. But it doesn't seem like he's home, as all the lights are off except for the outside ones. It must be nice to have constant electricity in town, I think bitterly.

As I lean against the sad old apple tree that can't even compare to the ones in the forest, I try very hard to not think back on that day, well over a decade ago now. I've never said a word to Peeta about it, and he never mentioned it either, so it seemed silly to bring it up. Not that I ever would have anyway. It took a long time after his father's death for me to even work up the courage to try to trade, and he seemed as equally shy. Things have only started to improve, and sometimes we even talk briefly during the exchanges. It's just common courtesy stuff, nothing ever of importance, but still, it's something not worth risking.

There's nothing at home for me, so I decide to wait a few minutes, idly wondering where he could be right now. I don't have to wonder for long before I spot him walking toward me, smiling as I push off the trunk to meet him.

"Hi," he greets, surprised but seemingly happy to see me.

"Hi. I just got back from the toasting."

He stands next to me, leaning against the tree as he shoves his hands into his pockets. It's strange to see him outside of the bakery, without his apron or a streak of flour on his face. "How was it?"

"It was lovely. Your cake was a big hit."

He smiles widely at this. "I'm glad."

"It was a lot nicer than I expected," I say, leaning back against the tree, too. "Nicer than five squirrels and three rabbits."

"Not really," he sighs.

"I already have apples for you, and I can get more squirrels. I'll bring them by-"

"You don't need to give me anything else," he interrupts, and he withers a little under my glare before shrugging sheepishly. "Hey, if I made a bad trade, it's my fault. I'm still learning here."

"I'll bring you more," I say, and it's the end of discussion about it. I'm not going to take advantage of either his ignorance or naivety.

"Fine," he huffs. "You know where to find me."

This isn't going at all how I wanted it to. I came here to _thank him_, not anger or insult him. "Thank you," I say, barely tasting the words in my mouth before spitting them out. I sigh inwardly and try again. "For the cake. It really was beautiful, and Prim loved it."

He visibly relaxes a little, settling back against the bark again. "You're welcome, Katniss. I'm glad."

"Were you really too busy to make another one, or did you just tell Mrs. Woodsworth that?" I ask.

"I knew you wanted it to be your surprise," he admits, scratching at the dry soil with the toe of his boot. "Even if you can never have too much cake."

"That's probably true," I laugh, my heart warming considerably at his thoughtfulness. "Thank you. I didn't even think about that. I've been so…off, I guess, lately." I shiver with the breeze.

"Do you want to go inside?" he asks, nodding toward the bakery.

"No, that's okay, I can't stay long."

"Well, here then." He shrugs out of his jacket and places it around my shoulders. "That dress is pretty but it can't be very warm," he says, securing the top button.

"Why are you feeling off?" he asks before I get the chance to thank him for the third time that night, which would surely be a personal record.

"I don't know," I admit. "It's just a lot of changes, I guess."

"Yeah," he agrees. "It's hard."

I look over at him and then back at the bakery, where Peeta's now all alone. His mother lives across the town with her new husband, and I'm not sure they even speak anymore. His brothers have both moved out, too, with one working in the mines and the other living above the furniture store. It can't be easy going from such a full house to being all by yourself. At least I still have my mother, even if our relationship is strained at best.

"The quiet's the worst," he says softly, still staring back at the darkened building. "Sometimes it can be very loud."

It's finally hitting me, the reality of the situation. I'm going to go home tonight and Prim won't be there. Prim will never really be home again, not even when she's visiting. She has a new life now, and as close as we are and I hope we always will be, I'm not quite a part of it.

Suddenly I feel sleepy. Actually, I'm exhausted. It's as if everything around me exists in some sort of dream, and I'm floating aimlessly. All I can manage is an absent, "Yeah."

"Well, you can always visit with me, if you'd like," he says, and my eyes snap toward his. I feel awake now.

He just shrugs again. "It doesn't always have to be about a trade. And to be honest, I'd prefer some company over more squirrel."

"Okay."

He looks back at me and smiles shyly, and now his jacket feels too warm. I unbutton it, moving to hand it back to him. "I should get going," I say. It's already dark out and I'm sure he has to get to bed soon if he's going to rise before the sun to begin the baking.

"Keep it," he says, motioning toward his jacket. "You can return it when you visit, right?"

"Right," I say, putting it back on.

"I'll walk you home."

"That's not necessary," I insist. "Really."

He nods, his hands back in his pockets. "Okay then. So, I'll see you later?"

"I'll see you later," I say. We awkwardly wave goodbye before I turn to leave. Once I know I'm out of his sight, I walk much faster, desperate to get home even if it won't feel like home once I'm there.

I yearn for my bed, and I hunker down further in Peeta's jacket as I make my way through the Seam. It smells like the bakery, like freshly baked bread. Like Peeta.

I'm surprised my mother's not already home, but she's probably visiting with Hazelle, or maybe she was summoned by someone in need of her help. Without another thought, I crawl onto the mattress that until tonight I shared with Prim, and I allow myself the luxury of stretching out. I fall asleep quickly, still wrapped in Peeta's jacket.

The sun is barely up when I'm awoken by a loud bang on the door and the panicked cries from several men. I watch as my mother rushes to them, and they pour inside, carrying the bodies of two miners. The smell of burnt flesh and coal dust now permeates our small house, and I can't look. I can't look at the blood or their worried faces. I can't listen to their pleas or cries of pain. I can't be reminded of my father now, not when I was in the middle of such a nice dream that I'm already struggling to remember.

So I settle back into bed, burrowing underneath the jacket and focusing on his smell. I close my eyes and picture his smile.

It's morning, the start of a new day, but all I want is to go back to sleep so I can dream again.

* * *

A/N: Come find me on tumblr as cinnamonanddildo. I post previews and other stories there, and I'll be happy to answer any questions. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 2

"She's craving strawberries. I told her they're not in season and now she just wants them more," Gale says.

I smile as I continue to clean the kills. Strawberries always make me think of Madge Undersee, and I haven't seen her since the past summer, the last time I stopped by to trade. Unlike most of the other girls in our class, Madge isn't married either, and she still lives at her parents' house, caring for her sick mother. Maybe I should stop by just to say hello the next time I'm in town visiting Prim or Peeta.

"It'll get easier after the baby comes," I say.

His nimble fingers continue to work on the snare as he looks over at me, perplexed. "I kind of doubt that, Catnip."

"Well," I sigh, "at least she won't be huge anymore and always complaining about it. So you've got that to look forward to."

Try as I might, it's hard to muster up too much sympathy for Gale when he's going on like this, because I'm pretty sure this is exactly what he wanted. Sure, things will be hard once his wife, Vera, gives birth, but they planned for a family. It's not as if they didn't know what they were getting into when they got married.

"Yeah," he laughs, standing and wiping his hands on his pant leg. "It _will_ be nice to have the old Vera back. She hasn't been too bad, though, considering how uncomfortable she has to be."

I shrug indifferently, though I'm sure he's right. It's not as if I spend much time with them, but I've seen her around the Seam plenty of times, and I'm amazed she can walk without toppling over. But it's Sunday morning, and between his shifts in the mines and his growing family, now is the only time that Gale and I have together, so I don't really want to spend it talking about his pregnant wife.

It's not that I'm jealous. If I wanted that life with him, I could have had it, but I didn't and I don't. It's just that I knew things were going to change between us when they changed with everything else, and it hurts to be right. I miss my hunting partner. I miss my friend.

I don't know how much longer we'll have these Sundays together. We'll be deep in winter soon, and already a thin sheet of snow covers the ground, and the plummeting temperatures make early morning hunts nearly painful. Weather conditions aside, I'm not sure he'll want to spend the time away from home once the baby arrives. Rory and Vick take to the woods now, too, and they can supply him with meat if he'd rather be with his new family.

Gale seems happy, though, and that's all that matters. I have to remind myself of this several times during our hunts, because otherwise I'll just go crazy. I want to ask him how he can stand it. How can he stand to go into the mines six days a week? How can he stand to bring a child into the world when he knows what could happen in 12 years time? How can he stand to stay away from the woods as often as he must, when it was always the one place where we were both truly happy?

But I'll never ask him, mostly because I already know the answer. Gale stands it because he doesn't really have a choice. All of our lives have been spent doing what we have to do to survive, and that's not any different as adults. Now he's even more bound by his circumstances since he chose to start a family. The closest thing I'll ever know to freedom is being able to decide that I don't want any of that. As dire as it might seem, it's something of a relief to only be responsible for myself, to not have anything or anyone for the Capitol to hold over my head. Until President Snow mandates that everyone reproduce, I at least have this.

I always tend to freeze up at the topic of Vera, my mouth settling in a thin line as he speaks. My mother and Prim assume it's jealousy, but it's really not. Or at least it's not the kind of jealousy they think it is. Regardless, Gale tenses as I do, annoyed that I haven't yet embraced her inclusion into his life. Soon we're both arguing over the snares and the division of our morning kills. It's a lot like it was when we first met, which says something about the sorry state of our current relationship.

He's muttering something impolite when we both hear it, the tell-tale rustling in the bushes just north of us. His eyes flit to mine just as my fingers find my bow, and we both wait. In this moment, the only sounds we can hear are the beating of our hearts and the soft trek of hooves moving closer in. I reach for an arrow just as Gale's mouth forms the word, _Now._

I have my bow raised and poised to release a second later, and I pull back to fire just as the deer steps into the clearing. The arrow swims through the air in the blink of an eye, and then the creature is down, his last breath already drawn.

Gale whoops in excitement as I try to comprehend what just happened. The buck is by far the largest I've ever seen, and as I stand over him, I quickly count the points on his antlers. Ten, eleven, twelve...it's almost a shame to have taken him down. But then my mouth waters at the thought of venison stew, and now I'm grinning just like Gale.

He leans down next to it, brandishing his knife to being the field dressing. "I don't think he even saw you," he says with awe.

We clean the carcass together, already calculating how much we should be able to make off this at the Hob. It'll require at least several trips each to take everything, but the bitter cold will keep the meat while we go back and forth with our haul.

If anything could improve our mood today, it's this. After three runs to the Hob, we've already made than a usual month's worth of hunting, even after keeping a good bit of meat for ourselves. We sell to Ripper last, and after she pays me, I offer the coins to Gale. "No," he says, trying to decline. "This was your kill, Catnip."

"Couldn't have done it without you," I insist. He looks torn between his pride and his need. "For the baby," I say, pressing the money into his hand, and finally he gives in and accepts it.

I'm sweating from the excursion, despite the cold, and there's blood staining my jacket and hands. But I still want to stop at the bakery before going home so I can give some of the meat to Peeta. I wonder if he's ever tasted deer before. Squirrels can't compare.

As I make the trek through town, all the shops lining the street are dark. Most merchant families are probably in their homes above their businesses, staying in and keeping warm. But the light's on in the bakery. Even though he's closed on Sundays, Peeta still spends a few hours in the kitchen preparing for the upcoming work week, since bakers never really get a day off. Usually he'll come out to greet me as soon as the overhead bell alerts him to my presence, so after I stand at the front counter for a minute or two, I decide to check in on him myself. I normally wouldn't feel so bold, but I'm pretty excited to share the venison with him.

I walk around the counter to look through the window on the kitchen door, and there's Peeta, chatting animatedly with Delly Cartwright as he kneads dough. I haven't seen Delly in a long time, maybe nearly a year, and it's strange to see her all grown up, taller and thinner and almost pretty. They smile and laugh together, looking so comfortable in each other's presence that I have to look away. Gale and I don't have that anymore, and Peeta and I don't have that yet.

I'm almost back to the door when Delly calls out to me, and I turn around to see her licking pink frosting from the corner of her mouth. Her blue eyes are bright when she smiles at me and asks how I am, but I ignore her. I'm too fixated on her flushed cheeks, and the way she keeps running the tip of her tongue over her swollen lips.

She tries to call after me again, but the door closes behind me, cutting off her words. If Peeta wants venison, then he can go out and hunt his own damn deer.

Snow starts to fall on my way home, and it's the fat flakes that cling to your clothes and skin. I'm still feeling sour by the time I make it back to the house, and finding my mother dressing the bandages of one of her patients does nothing to help my attitude. Our house is like a hospital now more than ever, and I crave solitude as if it were a meal. Even a few hours of quiet and alone time would go far in replenishing me. I consider heading back into the woods, if only for some peace, but decide it's a bad idea with the current weather.

"Katniss, have you met Winston?" my mother asks as she cleans the burns on his arm. While we haven't been formally introduced, I've seen plenty of him since the morning after Prim's toasting, when he and another man were brought here by the rest of their crew. The town doctor had written them both off, and the other miner didn't live through the morning. That made Winston the lucky one, though you wouldn't have known it to look at him. But my mother's care in the last six weeks has gone far in his recovery. We exchange a curt nod as she wraps a clean bandage around his wrist.

I start throwing together a stew for dinner, since I'm sure that Winston will be joining us now, too. As I slice carrots and parsnips, their quiet conversation turns into soft laughter, and any happiness I felt earlier today is as long gone as the deer I took down with a single shot.

* * *

Days and weeks crawl by with nothing to fill up my time except visits to Prim and the freezing forest. The few animals I manage to get are thin and frail, weakened by the harsh conditions and not even worth a trade. Without a fat squirrel in my hand, I don't see any reason to step foot into the bakery. In fact, I go to great lengths to avoid it altogether. It works out fine until one day when I'm coming back from an afternoon visit with Prim. As I pass the front of Peeta's building, instead of keeping my head trained straight as I've been doing, I glance over at the shop window, and in that split second, my eyes meet his as he talks with a customer. I quickly look away and walk faster, but he's out the door and calling my name before I get too far. There's not much else to do but stop, so I try to compose myself before turning around.

"Hi, Peeta," I say with what is probably the world's least convincing smile.

"Hello, stranger," he replies, and though his words are teasing, he looks far more serious than I'm used to seeing. "Where have you been lately?"

I shrug. "Around. I just haven't had anything to trade."

He's wearing his apron, not a coat, and the temperature is near freezing right now. "I thought we agreed that you didn't have to trade anything to stop by?"

That's true, and there were a few times in the past couple months when I came in to just say hello while I was in town, and then we would talk about the weather or our families or any old thing while he worked.

"I figured you were busy."

He looks back at the bakery and sighs. "Did I do something to make you angry?" he asks, his eyes settling on me again. He seems nervous, but still concerned enough to ask, and instantly I feel bad. Of course someone as kind as Peeta would be sensitive to others' feelings, and it's really not fair how I've been avoiding him. It's not his fault I've been in a bad mood for as long as I can remember.

"No," I say softly.

He takes a step closer, and I just notice how our hot breaths are visible in the cold air. "So you're not mad at me?"

I shake my head, but I'm concentrating on the fog leaving his mouth and not the words. "You should really get inside before you catch a cold."

"Will you come with me?" He's bunching the bottom of his apron in his hands nervously. "To talk for a minute?"

It feels like I can't keep my thoughts straight, like I have to force myself to focus. "Um, shouldn't you be working?"

"I'm the boss, I can take a break." He spins on his heel to head back to the bakery, and I don't think I really have a choice but to follow him. The warm air envelops me like a blanket as soon as we're inside, and as the door closes behind us, he turns to face me. "I just wanted to make sure that we're okay, and more importantly, that you're okay. I know-"

The overhead bell cuts him off as an elderly man enters the bakery, and Peeta sighs, glancing at me apologetically as he moves behind the counter to take care of the customer. The man buys two loaves of bread and then leaves quickly, and Peeta tries to pick up where he left off. "I know that weather's changed, but I still thought it was strange that you hadn't stopped by at all in the last couple weeks. I didn't know if I upset you or-"

The bell rings again and Peeta grits his teeth in frustration. "I'm sorry, just a second," he says to me as he goes to help the woman.

I watch as he sells a box of cookies to her, and then he follows her out, flipping the 'open' sign to 'closed' as he shuts the door behind her.

"You don't have to do that!" I say, looking out the front window to see two people already turning away.

"It's not like there's another bakery they can go to." He heads to the kitchen, holding the swinging door open for me and waiting expectantly. "I just have to finish up a few things back here."

It's almost hot in here with the ovens, so I shrug off my coat and take a seat in a chair at one of the long tables. "What were you going to say?" I ask him as he removes a batch of cookies from a cooling rack.

"You were here a couple weeks ago, and I asked Delly to tell you to come back here on her way out, but she said you seemed upset about something and left without saying anything." He glances up at me, and then starts scooping dollops of dough onto a clean cookie sheet. "I've been worried. I almost made a trip to the apothecary shop to ask Prim about you," he admits.

Oh, I'm glad he didn't do that. I'm sure my mouth settled into a thin line at the mention of Delly, since she serves as a reminder that I'm one of the few people in this district not somehow paired off, so I try to appear neutral. "I must have been having a bad day then, but I'm fine now. Are you busy with New Year's orders?" I ask, trying to change the subject.

He seems appeased enough by my reply. "Sort of, yeah. But it's still not as bad as the toasting season."

"Were there a lot this fall?" I ask, relaxing in the seat.

He shakes his head. "I think there were actually fewer this year than there normally is, but it sure felt like everyone was getting married."

I think about Prim and Bryce's toasting, and the memory cheers me up a little. "Thank you again for Prim's cake. I don't know how you found the time to make it so beautiful."

He looks up at my and smiles shyly. "So you really liked it?"

"It was perfect. I've never seen a more gorgeous cake." I fold my hands together on top of the table, worried that I sound like a moron with my rambling. I've never been very good with giving compliments. "Not that I've seen a lot of cakes, really. But it was even nicer than the ones you have on display sometimes, or the one I got for Gale's toasting." I bite my lip worriedly, because I think I just insulted the other cakes from his bakery.

He doesn't seem offended though. He even smiles as he starts to stir the contents of another bowl. "I actually made the one for Gale, too."

"Really?" I wasn't sure. That was a couple years ago, before his father's death. "Well, it was beautiful, too."

"I was always partial to it," he says. "I remember being in an especially good mood while decorating that one."

I don't really understand his comment so I ignore it. Instead, I watch him as he rolls out the dough of whatever he was just mixing. When it's flat and even, he takes a little metal circle and cuts out sections of it, and then he places them on another baking sheet. There's something calming about watching him at work. He's so good at what he does, so at ease here in the kitchen. Every push of the rolling pin looks effortless. It would take me minutes to do what he does in seconds, and even then my work would pale in comparison.

"At least toasting season is over now," I say.

He carries the trays to the oven, and says, "There's actually one more, next week." After he puts them inside and then checks the wall clock, he comes back to sit with me.

"Really? In January?" I ask. The fires might make sense in the cold weather, but usually everyone stays inside once the snow starts falling. It's not exactly a popular time for parties.

"Mellark men like to do things differently, I guess," he says, taking a cooled cookie and offering it to me. My face falls as I process what he just said, and I decline the treat. A toasting. He's having a toasting. With Delly, I assume.

"Oh."

"But I think Graham was just being considerate and waiting until things weren't so crazy around here," he adds before taking a bite for himself. "You sure you don't want one? They're really good."

"Graham?" I ask, ignoring the cookie.

"My oldest brother. He's finally making an honest woman out of Clementine." He holds out the cookie again. "Come on, it's gingerbread."

I take it from him just to shut him up. "Clementine? The carpenter's daughter?"

"Yeah. They've been engaged for a couple years now."

So Graham and Clementine are getting married. Not Delly and Peeta. I break the cookie in half and shove it into my mouth. Peeta was right, it is really good.

"Anyway, I'm making their cake, too," he says, and I stare down at the other half of the cookie in my hand. When I look up, he's watching me intently, an apprehensive look on his face. "Do you like it?" he asks, gesturing to the gingerbread.

"I thought maybe you were getting married," I admit, thinking out loud, not answering his question at all. But I do like it. I don't think Peeta's capable of baking anything I wouldn't enjoy.

"What?" he asks. "Me? To who?"

I shrug indifferently, but I feel like a fool. "Delly, I guess."

He starts laughing at me, a deep belly laugh that completely wipes out any trace of the worry or nervousness or even frustrated anger he seemed to be wrestling with earlier, and I glower at him until he stops to retrieve the other cookies from the oven.

At least he's no longer laughing as he moves them to the cooling rack and starts on the next batch, but he's still trying to fight a smile. "It seems like everyone is getting married now," I say, annoyed. I don't know why he seems so amused.

"Well, I'm not. And definitely not to Delly. We're just friends." He holds out another cookie that he took from the rack. "Try this one. It's a different recipe."

I take it from him, but I don't taste it yet. I keep thinking about how happy Delly looked when I saw her here, how I was sure his lips were pressed to hers only moments before I saw her. "So you're not dating her?"

Now he looks more perplexed than amused. "No, Katniss. Why?"

"I don't know," I say, shaking my head. "I just saw her here and figured you were together."

"We're just friends," he repeats, watching me closely. "We've known each other since we were babies. But we don't even see each other much anymore. She only stopped by that day to tell me she got a job at the community home. She was pretty excited about it."

I really don't want to keep talking about this. His friend's new job sounds like a safe new topic. "She did?"

He's still looking at me like he's searching for something. "Yeah."

"Well, that's good. She's really nice. I don't think most of the people who work there are."

I don't think he's paying much attention to what I'm saying, since he's studying me like I'm a problem to solve. I brush my mouth with the back of my hand, worried that there are crumbs on my face or something. "What?" I finally ask.

"Why do you care?"

"Huh?"

"If I got married. Why do you care?"

I swallow thickly and look away. The answer should be, '_I don't.' _But the real answer is, '_I don't know_.'

"I guess I don't want to be the only spinster I know," I say, trying to lighten the mood. It seems to work, since he laughs.

"Yeah, well, you won't be. I'll probably never get married."

"Really?" I ask, shocked by such a bold declaration. Usually I'm the only one saying things like this, but at least it makes sense for me. "Why?"

His eyes lock with mine again. "The only girl I want to marry doesn't want to," he says.

So there is someone else. I look away, and finally nibble at the cookie he handed me minutes ago, but it tastes like sandpaper in my mouth. "So you'll marry someone else," I say between bites.

He seems sad now as he pushes off the counter to get back to work. "I don't think so," he admits. "That didn't work out too well for my father. I don't know if I want to settle just so I can settle."

I want to ask him more questions, especially about his father, the nice man who I traded with for so many years but never really knew, but I check the clock and realize that Peeta's been closed for nearly 45 minutes already. He might be the only baker in the district, but he still can't afford to anger his customers. "Peeta," I say, "I should probably get going, since it'll be dark soon. But I could stop by tomorrow, if that's okay with you."

"Yeah," he exhales. "I'd like that."

He walks me to the front entrance, and I make a big show of flipping over the sign. "I'll see you tomorrow," I say, and he waves as I step back out into the cold.

My fingers and nose feel like icicles by the time I arrive home, and I hear peals of laughter ringing out from the sitting room before I even open the door.

"Hello, sweetie," my mother greets me, but I'm staring at Winston, who's too busy gazing at my mother to notice.

"Hi."

"Did you see Prim today?"

"I did," I say, moving through the house to get to the back room. "And I'm tired, so I think I'm going to work on the plant book and then go to bed early. Goodnight."

I shut the bedroom door behind me, the back of my head smacking against the thin wood as I lean against it. My fingers find the lapel of my father's coat, and I think about how much I wish he were here, and I wonder how different everything would be if he was.

The next day, even Peeta's newest gingerbread recipe can't distract me from the thoughts about my mother and Winston.

"These are made with corn syrup, which is a lot cheaper than molasses," he says, pushing the plate closer to me.

I take one and chew thoughtfully. "They're good, too. Not as sweet, but good."

"I'm going to try one more thing," he says, scratching the back of his neck.

He starts on another recipe, the midday lull allowing him to work in relative peace. As he stirs the flour into the large mixing bowl, I rest my head on my arms and watch him. "Peeta?" I ask. "Did it bother you when your mother remarried after your father died?"

He stops for a moment to think about it. "Not really, no. Why?"

As he rolls out the dough and cuts them into shapes, I tell him about Winston and my mother. He listens intently to every word, and after putting the cookies in the oven, he comes back to sit next to me. "I guess I wasn't upset because she finally seemed happy," he admits. "And she never really was with my father."

I mull over his words as he pulls the cookies back out. My mother and father were ridiculously happy together, I know that much. That aside, I still can't figure out Peeta's acceptance of his mother's new life. I might not understand much about their dynamic, but I've gleaned enough through the years to know it was not a very good relationship. "And you want her to be happy?" I ask. "You think she deserves that?"

He moves the cookies from the sheet to the rack. "Everyone deserves to be loved, Katniss."

"I guess it's the change I don't like," I admit a few moments later.

Peeta places a warm cookie on my plate and slides it across the table to me. "Not all changes have to be for the worse," he says. I reach out to break the cookie apart with my fingers, and I stare at the thick crumbs that stick to my skin before sucking one off my thumb. Peeta waits eagerly for my reaction.

"Best ones yet," I say.

Maybe change isn't so bad after all.

* * *

A/N: Come find me on tumblr as cinnamonanddildo. I post previews and other stories there, and I'll be happy to answer any questions. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 3

The blacksmith's daughter has a birthday coming up, and he ordered a small cake from Peeta for her special day. The man told him that his little girl likes purple flowers, so Peeta's attempting to cover every last bit of it in them, and it's incredible to see him at work. I know he's grown up in the bakery, but he has a real talent for all of this, and his abilities go so far beyond anything that can be taught or perfected with practice.

I watch as he rolls out a simple white dough and then carves out pieces of the flower using these tiny knives. He presses, pinches and twists all the parts together with a few flicks of his fingers, and then he paints them one of the several shades of violet that he's created from the red and blue food dyes. Everything about it is impressive. Sometimes I think I could watch him all day, and some days I practically do.

As I sit at the table, he guides the knife through the dough he calls fondant to draw the individual petals. In less than a minute, they're transformed into a blossomed rose.

"How do you do that?" I ask in amazement.

"Here, I'll show you," he says, coming around the table to stand behind me. He surprises me by covering my hands with his and moving them to the small rolling pin. "It takes practice to make it just the right thickness. If you want to learn, maybe I'll put you to work."

"I think I make a better hunter," I say with a light laugh.

We roll out the mixture together, Peeta's palms pressing down harder on mine when we need to thin the dough out more. When he's satisfied with the consistency, he shows me how to hold the tiny knife, and demonstrates cutting out the petals. I fumble at this step, art never being a strong suit, so again he takes over, using my hand. "And now," he practically whispers into my ear, "You pinch the base of the petals together, and curl the ends. Like this."

I try to concentrate on the motion, but he's so warm and it feels like the heat radiating off his body is soaking through my clothes to ignite my own skin. It's like an inferno with these ovens back here and I don't know how he stands the temperature.

His chest is pressed against my back, his chin near the crown of my head, and again he takes my hands in instruction. "Gently," he says, manipulating my fingers to create a sugar rose. I swallow in surprise at the end product; it's not nearly as lovely as anything he's created, but it's definitely a flower.

"Perfect," he says, his nose bumping my cheekbone.

I jerk back in shock and the delicate flower crumbles in my hand.

"See," I tell him. "I'll stick with hunting."

He smiles teasingly as he brushes the broken petals off the table and into his palm. "Yeah, you're fired."

"It was nice while it lasted," I shrug. "But I think I'm only good for squirrel."

He smiles wryly. "I doubt that."

"I definitely can't do _that_," I say, pointing to the new sugar flower he just produced.

He looks down at the confection in his hand and frowns. "This is probably one of the most useless talents to have. Being a perfect shot, on the other hand…"

There probably isn't any sense in arguing. I know what I'm capable of and what I'm not, and the latter list is infinitely long. As he finishes up the cake, I rest my head on my arms, stifling a yawn. Spring arrived early this year and I've been getting up before dawn to hunt. I guess Peeta's been up even earlier than that, but he doesn't look as tired as I feel.

He puts the cake in the box for the blacksmith to pick up this evening, and then takes the seat across from mine, propping his elbows on the table. "So, what else do you do?" he asks.

"What do you mean?"

"Besides hunting, or visiting Prim. What else do you do with your day?"

I lift my head and look at him. "Not much," I say. Really, what else is there?

"So you just go home and go to bed and that's it?" he asks, unconvinced.

"Well, no. I make dinner, since my mother's usually busy helping someone else." I stare down at my hands. "Sometimes I work on our plant book."

He asks me about it, but I don't really feel like discussing my father at all, so I quickly explain what it is and what I do with it, then turn it back around at the first available opportunity. "What about you?"

"I don't really have a lot of free time," he says. "Errands. Dinner. Sleep. Sometimes I visit the home on Sundays."

"The community home? To see Delly?"

"Well, no. For the kids. I bring them the week's leftovers."

Just the thought of the community home is enough to make me depressed. "Isn't that hard to see?"

"Yes, but not seeing it doesn't mean it's not happening. Some stale cookies are the highlight of the week for a lot of the children there." He gets up to slice the loaves of bread that have cooled. "You should come with me sometime," he says. "Most of them are pretty quiet, but some really love visitors. And they don't get many."

My first instinct is to firmly say no, but I'm sure that would make me sound completely heartless. "Maybe," I say instead, though I know I'll never set foot in there.

"How about this Sunday?"

There are about a million other things I'd rather do than visit the home, and that includes listening to my mother and Winston talk about nothing for hours at a time. Luckily I have a ready excuse so I don't have to lie. "Sundays are my only day to hunt with Gale."

"I thought you said he hasn't been hunting in months," he asks.

That's true, he's been home with Vera and the baby every Sunday since she gave birth, allowing Rory and Vick to bring them meat. But that could change at any time. "He might go hunting this week," I say.

"I don't usually go until late afternoon, and that's hours after you've gotten back," he reasons.

Up until this point, stubbornness isn't necessarily something I would associate with Peeta, but he's not letting this go. "Maybe I'll go some time," I say, hoping he'll drop it.

His shoulders slump in resignation, but he tries to cover up the disappointment. "If you don't want to, I understand." As he packages the sliced bread to put out front, he looks back over at me. "But the bakery doesn't have to be open for you to stop by. You could come over for dinner, if you want."

"Maybe," I manage again, staring intently at the floor.

We're both quiet as he gets back to everything he needs to do before the evening rush, and I hate that it's an uncomfortable silence. I'm sure he hates it, too. We don't always talk when I come by, but it never feels awkward or tense. He commented on that once, about how our quiet is a peaceful one, and I agreed. Now though, I feel like I should be saying or doing _something_.

"Is there anything I can do?" I ask helplessly.

"No," he says with a smile that relaxes me a little. "Your company is all I need."

* * *

It's mid-June and sweltering outside, even in the early mornings, which makes hunts uncomfortable. I rest under the cool canopy of the tress, protected from the relentless rays of sunshine, until I have to go back to the district. I've got a bounty of plants and herbs for Prim, whose business is flourishing, so I stop by the apothecary shop first.

She smiles sweetly when she sees me, and I triumphantly hold up my bag. "I found nearly everything you asked for," I say, and she thanks me as she comes around the counter for it. She thinks she's being smooth, but I feel her hand against my jacket pocket, and I grab it and push her away. "Oh, Katniss, come on!" she says, attempting to stronghold me and slip the money back into my pocket.

"Absolutely not," I say, still trying to wrestle away from her. But my once little sister is now taller and stronger than I am.

"You know, we get paid for these," she sighs after finally giving up.

I don't care, and I'm not taking a single coin from her, and she knows it.

I let her go through the bag, helping her preserve and put away each plant. After we've bottled the seeds of the last one, I notice her crestfallen expression. "No red clover?" she asks with disappointment.

I shake my head. "I tried, but I didn't see anything matching your description. What do you need it for, anyhow?"

"Why?" she asks, surprisingly short-tempered.

"I was going to add it to the plant book," I snap.

She worries her bottom lip. "It's supposed to help with infertility."

"Who in the district could possibly want that?" I ask immediately, but then I see her face redden. "Prim! You can't be serious!"

"We've been trying for a while now. I figured it couldn't hurt to use it."

"Trying?" I repeat back, unbelieving. "You and Bryce actually want to bring a baby into this world? Even though you know very well what could happen to it?" Immediately I picture a young girl, the spitting image of Prim right down to the untucked blouse hanging over her skirt, walking to the stage after her name's been picked. A whole new wave of anger washes over me as I realize this will never end, that I will never be free of the worry, not when Prim and Gale are determined to tempt fate.

"I'm going," I say, grabbing my bag and rushing out before she has a chance to reply.

I have no desire to go home and face the woman who I'm sure told Prim about red clover in the first place, so I head over to see Peeta. It seems that with every passing day, the bakery is becoming more of a refuge than the only home I've ever known.

He's in the back when I come in, and there aren't any customers around so I slip into the kitchen like he's always telling me to do. But I stop short when I find Delly back here with him, looking contrite before she sees me and smiles warmly.

"Hi, Katniss," she says, though she doesn't seem quite as exuberant as she normally is. I say hello back as I look to Peeta, who seems to be upset about something.

"I'm sorry, Peeta," she whispers to him as she edges toward the door. She tells us both goodbye, and as soon as I heard the font bell ring, I turn to him. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," he says, bending to lift the large sack of flour from the floor.

I follow behind him as he hauls it to the storage room. Now I know how annoying it must be to everyone else when I refuse to talk. "Then why are you angry?"

He puts the flour, which must weigh more than I do, on the wooden shelf above his head. "I asked Delly to speak to the Capitol official who arrived on the train today."

"What about?" I ask as he puts away the rest of his supplies.

"I thought maybe one of the older kids at the home could stay here, since I've got all this room upstairs. I figured they could even work around here some if they wanted to." He sighs, sounding more tired than I've ever heard him. "I just wanted one of them to be able to get out of there."

"They said no?" I ask, though the answer seems obvious.

"They wouldn't even let me file an application since I'm not married," he says.

I follow him through the kitchen to the back exit and sit next to him on the stoop. "This is it," he says, holding out his hand. "This is my life. I'm 23-years-old and this is all I'll ever have."

My brow furrows in confusion, but he continues. "And I thought I was okay with that, that I accepted it. But I can't even open my home to someone who needs it. I just feel…useless."

"You're not useless!" I insist, horrified he even thinks that. "You're…the baker."

He smiles, though there's no joy behind it. "Well if I wasn't, Rye would be. Or Graham, if he had to." He glances over at me, and he must take pity on me when he sees how inept I am at this whole comforting thing because his expression softens.

"I'm sorry, Peeta," I say, echoing Delly's exact words because I can't think of anything else. And he thinks _he's_ useless?

"I'll be okay," he says, looking straight ahead. "Maybe I'll take in a boarder or something."

I play with the laces of my hunting boots, not sure what else to do. Finally I settle on telling him that I had an argument with Prim, though I don't go into the details.

"So we both had a lousy day," he says.

"Yeah," I agree.

The front bell jingles, and we both look back. "I should probably get going anyway," I say, wishing I could do something more but knowing I can't.

"See you later?" he asks hopefully, like he always does when he bids me farewell.

"Later," I smile.

I start for home as he goes to take care of his customer, and I worry about him the entire way back to the Seam. As angry as I am with my sister right now, I still wish I could be more like her. She always knows exactly what to do to make someone feel better, whether it's a broken bone or a broken heart that ails them.

I realize my mother's not home when I walk through the door. Normally I would love the time by myself, especially since I'm annoyed with her, but I don't really want to be alone with my thoughts right now. The only thing to do then is keep busy, so I bear the heat and begin dinner, roasting rabbit and tubers with some wild onions and chives I picked today. Once supper is on, I try to concentrate on the plant book, begrudgingly starting an entry for red clover, but it doesn't help distract me.

About an hour later, I completely give up, and I set the book aside before I change into a clean shirt and re-braid my hair. Then I tend to the food some more. Prim hasn't lived here for nearly 10 months, but I'm still not used to cooking for two. Sometimes I divide the extra and spoon it into our bowls, or if Winston or one of my mother's patients is around, I'll offer her portion to them. But this evening I'm alone.

I look around the empty room and my thoughts drift back to Peeta. This is all he knows now, I realize, and suddenly I understand why he's so appreciative of my visits. Even my poor company would be preferable to this.

I know what to do with the extra food tonight. Decided, I leave a short note for my mother that I'll be back later, and I place her serving into a separate pan, leaving it on the cooling embers. Then I take the pot and head to the square for the second time today.

Back at the bakery, Peeta's finishing his closing routine, and he looks up in surprise when I knock on the window.

"Want to have dinner with me?" I mouth, holding up the food.

We eat in the bakery kitchen, Peeta providing a loaf of fresh bread, still warm from the oven, and real butter. I can't even remember the last time I tasted butter. It's possible I never had it. I drown my slice in the pale, creamy goodness and my eyes fall shut when I take a bite.

He smiles as he watches me eat, but he still doesn't seem like himself. "I don't know how I'm going to go back there this week," he admits, talking about the community home.

Maybe it's the butter and full stomach making me so amiable. Or maybe I'm trying very hard to be a decent friend. Either way, I find myself saying something I never thought I would: "I'll go with you."

* * *

I remember seeing the community home kids around school. They were easy to pick out of the crowd because their expressions were so hollow, their eyes lifeless. But it wasn't just hunger pains that slumped their shoulders. It was solitude and despair, a complete hopelessness born from having literally nothing.

As difficult as times were for me and Prim, we always had each other. When my mother was unreachable and my anger with her was immeasurable, it was Prim's love, and not just an instinct to survive, that gave me the strength to go on. I always felt sorry for the home kids, but I knew there wasn't anything I could do to help anyone but myself and my sister.

I've always avoided going anywhere near the community home, but now Peeta and I walk straight to it. It's a big stone building that sits at the edge of town, and it looks bleak and cold even in the summer sunshine.

The interior is no better, I realize today. It's sterile and impersonal, dank and dull. The children sit and stare. There's no playing. No laughter. No life inside these walls.

Peeta told me before that there are about 50 children at the home now. Most are older; some just recently lost their parents, while others have been here for most of their lives. Then there are ones who aren't reaping age yet, and a few who are even too young for school. As I walk the main floor, I notice a door labeled as the nursery and I wonder how many tiny babies are here as well.

But there are still families here, I realize. Siblings who were taken from the same home and now keep to themselves, all huddled together in separate corners as they find refuge in each other. I look away from them, my stomach lurching.

"Would you like to pass out some cookies?" Peeta asks me, holding out one of the boxes.

I shake my head and take a free chair in the center of the room, watching as the children see Peeta and slide off their seats to move gingerly toward him. They gratefully take the treats, and he coaxes some of them into conversation. But something about this place is making it very hard for me to breathe, and I don't think it's the suffocating humidity. I try to calm myself down, refusing to distract Peeta from the children who surely need him right now more than I do.

So I focus on the patterns on the floor tiles as I take deep breaths, and it feels like hours pass until finally Peeta is tapping my shoulder, letting me know that it's time for us to go.

We're both quiet on our way back to the bakery, and I thought I was feeling better, that just getting out of there was enough, but I can feel my throat tightening as I fight the sudden urge to cry. As we round the corner, though, I lose it and I have to stop. I bend over as the long-suppressed sob escapes, and then the hot tears are streaming down my cheeks.

"Katniss?" Peeta asks, alarmed. He kneels in front of me, tilting my chin up so I meet his eyes.

"That could have been us," I say, looking back in the direction of the home. "If you hadn't given us the bread, then that would have been us."

He looks completely confused. "What?"

"I never even thanked you," I say as I wipe my eyes.

"For what?"

"The bread!" I nearly shout.

Finally there's a hint of recognition in his eyes. "You never had to thank me."

I shake my head again as he grips my arms. "You have no idea what that meant to me," I start to say. "It saved us."

"Hey," he says, rising to his feet as he continues to hold on to me. "_You_ did that. I didn't do anything special." I try to deny this but he refuses to listen. "Don't sell yourself so short, Katniss." He exhales loudly. "You know, I can't even count how many times you kept me from going hungry."

Now it's my turn to be confused. "What?"

"If I or one of my brothers ever upset our mother, she'd send us to bed without meals," he says. "Sometimes we'd go days or even weeks with nothing but a little stale bread. My father never stood up to her about it, but he'd trade with you if she wasn't around, and then give it to us." He smiles shyly at me as he squeezes my bicep. "So you fed me too, okay?"

I nod mutely as we both start walking again. I'm not sure what to think or say, and I'm so overwhelmed by everything that I feel dizzy. So I move closer to Peeta as we go, because he's always steady and sure, and I know he'd never let me fall.

* * *

Gale's back home in the woods, and I can tell how happy he is because he's uncharacteristically talkative. He tells me all about his son, who's growing like a weed and already sitting up on his own and smiling. "Posy can't get enough of him," he says. "She's always over, insisting she help. Ethan loves her."

He gives me a pointed look and I know it's a dig at me, at how I don't spend enough time with Vera and the baby. I've only seen him a handful of times in the five months since his birth. I still remember the night Gale came pounding on our door, looking terrified as he told my mother it was time. I stood sheepishly behind her as she gathered her things, still bleary-eyed from sleep and swimming in one of my father's old nightshirts. When my eyes met Gale's over the top of my mother's head, I knew that things would never be the same again.

"She sounds like Prim," I say with a laugh, but that thought freezes me up, too.

I'm actually thankful when Gale changes the subject to my mother and Winston. "He's a good man, Catnip," Gale insists.

"I'm sure he is," I say distractedly.

"Your mother seems to care about him," he adds. "She must have a weakness for miners." He looks away, mumbling something about how she's obviously the only Everdeen woman with one, and I glare at him.

He has no idea what it's like, anyway. It's not as if Hazelle has met someone else and started spending a significant amount of time with him. I think I'm entitled to my feelings.

"His wife died, too, you know," Gale says. "It's probably good for them both that they're friends."

"Sure," I say, completely uninterested.

"I just think you'd like him if you gave him a chance," he tells me. "I like him. He's a hard worker. Not that it gets you anywhere in the mines." He finishes cleaning the rabbit and moves on to the next one. "They just made Rye Mellark foreman, out of all the men on the crew." He shakes his head, bitterness painted on his face. "But anyway, you should ease up on the guy, Kat. They're not going to run off and get married. They're just getting to know each other."

I almost wish they would run off and get married already. Then my mother could move in with Winston and I would finally be alone, my destiny fulfilled. I'd try to find a place of my own if I could afford it, but I don't have steady work. The district won't assign housing without a marriage license.

Maybe I could sneak into Victors' Village and live in one of those empty houses. I don't think Haymitch Abernathy would ever be sober enough to notice he had a new neighbor…

"Speaking of the Mellarks," Gale says, interrupting my thoughts. "I hear that you're spending quite a bit of time with the baker."

This gets my full attention and I turn to stare him down.

He shrugs. "People talk."

"Where?" I ask, annoyed. "In the mines? In the Seam? I assumed people had more important things to do than gossip."

"Just be careful," he says. "You're as Seam as I am, Catnip. We don't fit with them."

I'd defend Peeta to him, but it's a waste of breath. "We're just getting to know each other," I say instead, to see how he likes it.

He must not because he grabs his rabbits and stands. "If you're so eager for company, you could always visit with Vera and the baby," he says. "But I know that won't happen."

We're still arguing by the time we make it to the Hob to trade. As he barters with Sae, I feel a tug on my braid, and I turn to see Darius, the newly anointed Head Peacekeeper, smiling widely at me.

"What did you bring me good?" he asks.

"Poison oak and spiders," I say, batting away his hand.

"Hey, be nice!" he says, pulling a wounded look. "I could arrest you for breaking my heart."

He yanks on my hair again and I slap his fingers. "I'm going to break something of yours if you don't stop."

"Fine," he says, standing straight and tall. "Then I'll just go arrest your boyfriend for stealing you from me."

Gale move next to me. "Boyfriend, huh?" I look up at him, expecting him to be angry, but he just looks amused.

"You and the baker are the talk of District 12. A love story for the ages," Darius says.

"He's not my boyfriend!" I sputter, grabbing my bag off of Gale. He and Darius laugh, _at me_, and I glare at them both.

"I heard you're at the bakery every day," Darius says, and my jaw clenches.

Gale's eyes are bright with mirth, because there are few things he loves more than being proven right. "I heard that, too," he adds.

"And I heard you were spotted at the square last week practically holding hands," Darius says.

"We weren't holding hands!" I say loudly, and it feels like every head in the Hob turns to look at me in that moment. "We're just friends!"

"And," Darius continues, unrelenting, "I heard you went into the bakery last night after close and didn't come back out."

"Catnip!" Gale says, acting scandalized. "I didn't hear _that_!"

I can feel my cheeks burning at all they're implying. "We had dinner together!" I say. "But I went home after!"

"Dinner sounds an awful lot like a date," Gale says with a laugh. "You'll be at the slagheap with him before you know it."

He and Darius crack up at this, and I hate them both. "Shut up!" I say, stalking off in a huff. Their obnoxious laughter rings out louder, and it seems to follow me as I leave.

I throw a dirty look at every single person I cross as I make my way into town, sure they're gossiping about me, too. I don't even know what I'm going to say to Peeta when I see him.

As I walk through the square, I tell myself that I don't care what anyone says, that I know what's true and what's not and that's all that matters. Still I falter at the front entrance to the bakery, and I look around suspiciously, sure all eyes are on me.

I decide to go around to the back. Like old times.

But before I round the corner, I look back at the display window. There's a new sign hanging up, advertising a room for rent. I rush around the building and dart behind the old apple tree in Peeta's yard. So he really is taking in a boarder. I remember him briefly mentioning it that day a couple weeks ago, but I didn't know he was still planning on it.

I hear the back door open and I peer around the trunk to see Peeta coming out with a garbage bag and a handful of goods too stale to sell. He lifts the lid to the trash bin and places the bag inside, and I quietly watch as he carefully arranges the boxes of old goods on the top, right in reach of the little Seam hands that I'm sure will be coming for them soon.

He closes the lid and turns to head back inside, and I jump out from behind the tree. Before I can stop myself, I call out Peeta's name.

"Katniss?" he asks, probably confused as to why I'm in the back.

"How much do you want for the room?" I ask, already mentally calculating what I can afford to offer him right now.

"What?"

"I don't know how much I could pay each month, but I could take care of the house and prepare meals and-"

"You need a place to stay?" he asks, concerned and stepping closer.

I nod, and he stands in front of me, his blue eyes boring into mine. "Then we'll work something out."

I look over his shoulder and up at the red brick building that will now be my home.

"Come on," he says, taking my hand and leading me inside.

People will talk, surely now more than ever. But at this moment I can't bring myself to care.

A/N: I'm putting this story on a temporary hiatus as of 9/7. I'm not sure when I'll be able to update next but I promise it's not abandoned. Sorry, readers.

Come find me on tumblr as cinnamonanddildo. I post previews and other stories there, and I'll be happy to answer any questions. Thanks for reading!


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